


Wither Thou Goest

by w0rdinista (Niamh_St_George)



Category: Lord Peter Wimsey - Dorothy L. Sayers
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 11:46:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niamh_St_George/pseuds/w0rdinista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harriet and Peter are stranded at Talboys for Christmas and Peter is, understandably, annoyed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wither Thou Goest

**Author's Note:**

> I'm shifting over all of my old Sayers-fic from the Yuletide archive to AO3 so it can live together with the rest of the stories. :)
> 
> Written for Artyartie in the Yuletide 2005 challenge. 
> 
> Set after Busman's Honeymoon; the author is assuming Talboys' restorations would be finished in the two months after the events in that novel. Everything up to _Busman's Honeymoon_ is a given, though I'm rather ignoring _Thrones, Dominations._

_"But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!"_  
  
~ A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens  
  


***

  
  
The grounds at Talboys were covered in a thick blanket of winter white. Winds still lingered from the previous night's storm, whirling the fine dust that lay upon the unblemished landscape into miniature sparkling whirlwinds. From the bedroom window, Harriet could see the shed, home to the Daimler, alone in a sea of blinding white. Everything around the structure was buried beneath knee-deep snow and a thick layer of it lay undisturbed on the shed's roof.  
  
She had the sneaking suspicion they would not make it to Duke's Denver in time for the midnight service. Hard on the heels of that suspicion was another one whispering to her that it was equally as unlikely they'd make it for Christmas dinner. Well, at least their  _clothes_  would be there; Bunter had gone ahead with a hired car carrying the luggage the previous morning, with the understanding that they would be soon behind him. He had been hesitant to leave at all, but steady Bunter, dependable Bunter bent to his lordship's vehement insistence.  
  
Christmas goose or no, Helen was going to feast on this little debacle. Harriet could almost hear her sister-in-law's strident voice:  _Who leaves the city a week before Christmas? Why on earth would one wish to remove oneself from London in favor of a veritable wilderness? What kind of woman ignores her duty to society at this time of year? What kind of husband indulges her? When_  will  _Peter stop behaving as if he's twenty years younger?_  
  
She blew out a soft sigh and turned to watch the man in question as he slumbered, blissfully unaware of the crystalline fairy-world beyond the warmth of their bedroom. A small, fond smile curled at her lips like a ribbon of smoke; watching her husband (there were still moments when she couldn't quite believe _that_ ) sleep was a pleasure she couldn't deny herself. At the moment, Peter was on his back, his head lolling to the side. Slumber relaxed his features, and ever since a warm day, punting down the Isis, Harriet had grown rather fond of watching him sleep. Hypnos and Morpheus worked in concert to erase the years from his brow, wiping away worry and anxiety, the residue of war and the knowledge that he'd sent more than one man to the gallows.   
  
But slumber cannot endure under the weight of an intent gaze, and slowly Peter's lids twitched before revealing drowsy grey eyes that made her heart turn over in her chest. Moments like this one made her wonder how --  _why_  -- she'd convinced herself for so long that she felt nothing for this man.  
  
"You're awake," she said, leaning against the sill.  
  
"I am, indeed," he replied, his voice husky with sleep. He stretched then, with a sort of feline laziness that flooded Harriet's vivid imagination with mental images of her husband's body and its many talents. Her reverie, however, was shattered when said husband turned a glowering eye to the window. "Saucy pedantic wretch," he muttered at the bright winter sunlight streaming through the window. "Would she go wake a schoolboy instead of me." But then his eye lit on her and he smiled. "Ah, but you, dear Harriet, you are a sight to which I would gladly wake for the rest of my years."  
  
Suppressing her smile, she only replied, "And, all in all, that is quite lucky for you."  
  
"Indeed. You are both Eos and Selene."   
  
"If I am Eos, does that make you Tithonus?" Peter grimaced by way of answer and Harriet laughed softly, turning and looking again out the window. The morning sun seemed even brighter to her eye -- she could see the dazzling morning display of sunlight dancing across newly fallen snow.  
  
But Peter hadn't seen yet.  
  
"You're up early, rather," he said, combing his fingers through tousled blond hair, the end result being a far cry from his customary sleekness, but appealing in its lack of polish. "I hope I didn't snore too terribly."  
  
The new beds -- indeed, the new furnishings -- in Talboys were a vast improvement over Noakes' eclectic (which was putting it far too kindly) taste. But, with the new beds came solid and restful nights' sleeps, and very little snoring. Harriet chuckled and shook her head. "Nothing woke me, I just..."  
  
"You just chose to abandon the warmth of eiderdown for a drafty window. Yes, it makes perfect sense." Settling against the pillows, he regarded her, a faint, sly smile dancing upon his lips, one that made the blood rush in her veins. "'Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy, until I labor, I in labor lie.' Unless I am very mistaken, we don't need to leave the warmth of our bed and each other's arms for at least another hour."  
  
She bit her lip. "Peter..."  
  
"We've plenty of time, darling." He gestured at the window. "After all, it's quite obvious we cannot make our sun stand still, yet--"  
  
"We can't leave, Peter."  
  
There was a pause, and his brows knitted together slightly. "I beg your pardon? Of course we can."  
  
Harriet turned again to the window, with a helpless wave. "There's snow everywhere. I doubt--"  
  
"Oh, it can't be as bad as all that," he was saying, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing. But when he joined her at the window, her usually verbose husband only looked at the pristine, glittering landscape and blinked once, then twice. "I say, that's quite a bit of the white stuff, ain't it?"  
  
Following his gaze, Harriet nodded. "It's at least knee-deep. I wouldn't be surprised if all of Pagford was covered."  
  
"Hmm."  
  
"And there's no way we can shovel it all, Peter. Even if we managed to clear the drive, the entire town's probably just as impassable."  
  
"Hmm," he said again.  
  
"I suppose it's possible that they've started clearing some of the streets, but there's no guarantee we'll have clear passage to Duke's Denver."  
  
A long silence passed between them as Peter looked out over the grounds, vaguely reminding Harriet of a hawk eyeing its prey. He looked... determined. "Peter?"  
  
"Do you know, I believe I can clear it?"  
  
"You want to shovel the entire drive? Peter, have you gone mad?"  
  
"Oh, I did that long ago, dearest. I daresay even before I ever darkened your doorstep."  
  
But for some reason, his jest only frustrated Harriet further. "There's absolutely no way you can possibly do such a thing! You'll catch your death of cold, Peter. And what of the roads? Do you propose we keep a shovel and salt in the back of the Daimler in case we encounter snow too thick to drive through or over? It's positively insane."  
  
Unfortunately for Harriet, her husband would not be deterred. "Lucky for me you're quite used to that, eh?" He was already moving about the room, looking for warm clothes. A large selection of his wardrobe was packed away and waiting for him at Duke's Denver; what was left were warm, sturdy clothes, and his lordship was presently bundling himself up in them.  
  
"Peter, you're--"  
  
"Being a headstrong, obstinate ass?"  
  
Lady Peter was not inclined to disagree. Instead, pursing her lips, she crossed the room and took his hands. "It is a setback. A rather inconvenient setback, but surely not the most daunting we've ever faced. We can get on without Bunter for a day or so; there's food enough in the pantry," it was true; they were planning on coming back to Talboys after the holiday to spend New Year's Eve in each other's company alone, "and there is plenty of wood cut, so we will neither freeze nor starve. I'm sure everyone will understand that we're delayed."  
  
It took even more persuasion than that to convince Peter that attempting to clear all the roads in Pagford was an exceedingly bad idea. But eventually Lady Peter and common sense prevailed, and while his lordship was none too happy about the arrangement, he grudgingly agreed that it was wiser and safer to wait a bit.   
  
But, throughout the day, Harriet couldn't help but notice that Peter seemed increasingly withdrawn and distracted. By that evening, his lordship's mood had descended from "withdrawn and distracted" to something Harriet could only describe as "genteelly sullen." They sat on a sofa in the parlor, a roaring fire before them, each with a book. For her part, Harriet wasn't doing very much reading. She watched her husband out of the corner of her eye, and each time the clock struck the quarter-hour, he looked up at it and glowered.   
  
As much as she tried to ignore it, his behavior was starting to prod at Harriet. Surely there was nothing to be done about it. Bert Ruddle had come by and cleared the drive, informing them that, yes, most of Pagford was under no less than twelve inches of snow, but it was getting cleared, slowly but surely. And yet, Peter refused to take the setback with his usual measure of easygoing suavity.  
  
She supposed it had something to do with being away from home on Christmas. Surely Mary and Charles would be there with their children, and Harriet knew that Peter was dreadfully fond of his nephew, who bore the same name as he. Harriet, on the other hand, was quite used to solitary holidays, and although she was often invited to spend the time with friends, it wasn't quite the same thing as coming from a family that congregated during the yuletide season.   
  
All the same, as fond as Peter was of his mother, and Mary and Charles and their brood, to say nothing of the Lord St. George, Harriet knew very well that family gatherings also meant tolerating Helen's unbearable snobbery. Gerald, on the whole, was a rather decent fellow, but Helen's love of and concern for society and propriety overshadowed all else. In truth, Harriet could not feel a tiny, fleeting twinge of relief for this brief reprieve. Of course, she felt horribly guilty for it; she would have her husband all to herself for Christmas, and the prospect pleased her far more than she believed it should. She too was fond of the Dowager Duchess, and Peter's sister and brother in-law, and even his reckless nephew, but she treasured these moments with him. And being alone, together on Christmas Eve... well, it was selfish, but Harriet could not think of anything she would have liked more.   
  
She only wished Peter were not so annoyed. Surely their first Christmas together counted for something, didn't it? As far as she was concerned, Harriet could not begin to put into words the feelings that swelled in her breast when she reflected on the two months since their marriage. Being Lady Peter had its share of difficulties, to be sure, and life with Peter Wimsey was not without its unique troubles, but for the first time in years, she felt something -- something deep and real and  _moving._  She could not articulate the difference in herself since knowing (and finally loving) such a man, but she could feel it, like a tiny bird struggling to beat its wings. She was a different person because of him, and yet she was still herself. Simply  _being_  with him right here, right now, on Christmas Eve -- it  _meant_  something to her.  
  
So they were stranded at Talboys instead of on their way to Duke's Denver; that wasn't such a terrible situation, was it? Certainly the country house was not decorated as lavishly as the Wimsey family estate, but it was definitely festive. Yards of fragrant garland festooned the banister and hung heavily on the mantel above the fireplace. Heavy vases held poinsettia arrangements here and there, and while there was no tree, the house had a warmth about it, a welcoming glow that called to Harriet and made her glad, despite the initial trials, that they'd acquired Talboys at all.  
  
The clock chimed half-nine. Again Peter glared at the timepiece.  
  
After a moment, Harriet cleared her throat. He looked at her, but without the flicker of irritation she'd seen in his profile not seconds before. "Peter, I was thinking that perhaps it might be nice to attend Reverend Goodacre's Christmas Eve service. I realize it's not quite the same thing as attending with the rest of your family, but I imagine it will be a lovely service all the same."  
  
He didn't reply right away, instead glancing at the clock again and frowning.   
  
She suppressed her sigh. "Peter..."  
  
But then, all at once, it was like a switch was flipped in her husband. As if with a conscious effort, he shrugged off the cloak of his discontent and looked at his wife with a determined smile -- as if he'd decided just then that he would not allow the unforeseeable to ruin his mood.  
  
"I do believe you're on to somethin' there, m'lady. It's pointless to brood; it only makes my face longer and sillier than it already is. I see you look not at all shocked; I should know better than to think your eye misses anything." At least he was admitting it, which did a great deal to soothe Harriet's exasperation. Reaching out, he took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. "If my lady wishes to attend service, then attend it we will.  _Je peux tu ne nie rien_." Then he paused thoughtfully, frowning. "Ah, but that's not true either."   
  
This was news to Harriet, and her expression said as much. She lifted one eyebrow a fraction as she regarded him. "No? Please enlighten me."  
  
"I managed to deny you a sane and solitary existence. I don't know how you could ever forgive me for that."  
  
Struggling to hide her smile, Harriet said, "Well, I'm quite sure with enough time, patience, and effort, I will be able to find enough room in my heart to forgive you."  
  
"A great deal of effort, I'm sure."  
  
"Scads."  
  
"'Man goeth unto his work and to his labor until the evening,' and I  _do_  look forward to it."  
  
Her lips twitched. "We should perhaps attend service before you apply yourself to your task."  
  
"At least one of us has concern for my immortal soul." He nodded and stood, offering Harriet his hand. She took it. "Very well," he said as she got to her feet. "We shall prepare ourselves for the good Reverend's sermon and return to our blazing hearth after the service."  
  
But when they turned to go upstairs to dress, the couple saw that, once again, snow was swirling outside, undoing all of Bert Ruddle's earlier work, and covering the world in another layer of frozen dust.  
  
If there was one thing Harriet knew for absolute certain about her husband, it was that he prided himself on being a gentleman. And, as a gentleman, she realized he made it a practice not to use unduly coarse language in front of her. So when the only invective he uttered was a heartfelt, "Dash it all," she was immediately concerned.  
  
"What? What is it, Peter?" But when Harriet's eyes went to the window, her shoulders sagged with the weight of disappointment. The distance to the church was a bit too far to walk in this weather, and at the rate the snow was covering the ground, it was unlikely the Daimler would have a great deal of success navigating the return route.  
  
However, it also meant that their trip to Duke's Denver was possibly going to be further delayed.  
  
When Harriet snuck a glance up at her husband, she was greeted with his frowning profile. He was, in fact, giving the falling sheets of white the same glower he'd given the clock earlier. If the bubble of peace and contentment that had surrounded Harriet did not shatter, it at least suffered a serious dent. She blew out a silent sigh. "Darling..."  
  
A grimace passed over his features and he bowed his head, shaking it slowly. "The universe conspires against me, my own one. I had better willingly cast chance to the four winds, for though I may be the captain of my soul, a power higher than me has illustrated quite clearly that I am  _not_  the captain of my fate."  
  
"It's only a light dusting. It should not impede--"  
  
"Oh, to blazes with the snow, Harriet. It's not the snow that's upset me. Now, now, don't look at me so, missus; it's  _not._ "  
  
"Very well," she replied, a hint of dryness to her tone. "Would you educate me as to what  _has_  got you so upset?"  
  
He hesitated a moment, pressing his lips together. "...Christmas."  
  
It is a credit to Harriet Wimsey nee Vane that she did not gape. "...I beg your pardon, but did you say... Christmas?"  
  
He crossed his arms over his chest, looking for all the world like a petulant child. The illusion only lasted a second, and soon he was glaring out the window again. "I did."  
  
"Might I ask why?"  
  
"I was afraid you would." The briefest of silences passed before he went on to explain. "This is the first Christmas that I am permitted to give you something that you will accept and ostensibly  _keep._  And I cannot even give you the pleasure of accompanying you to the midnight service without hiring a sleigh to bring us there and back." He looked at her uncomprehending face for a long moment before blowing out a frustrated sigh. "Your gift -- I should, perhaps, say 'gifts,' but no matter -- your gift, my darling girl, is in my luggage. My luggage," he reiterated with a shake of his head, "which Bunter has quite efficiently brought to Duke's Denver, and, I'm sure, promptly unpacked."  
  
"I'm afraid I still don't quite understand the problem, Peter."  
  
He brought a hand up to her hair, passing long, graceful fingers through the dark curls, saying, half to himself, "Of course you don't, dear, darling woman." After a moment, he smiled fondly. "The first year I am permitted to give you something, the first year you are bound by the laws of matrimony to  _accept_  my gifts, I pack them in my luggage, and we're stranded in a ruddy snowstorm." Peter paused a beat. "It's simply  _not_  fair," he added, plaintively. And when Harriet brought her hand to her mouth, covering her smile, he tilted his head back, gazing at the ceiling. "And now my light-o-love is  _laughing_  at me."  
  
She laid her palm against his cheek, dark eyes lighting with the warmth of affection. "Only because you're being inexcusably silly."  
  
"As is my wont."  
  
Her fond smile never wavering, she moved closer to her husband, her hand sliding from his cheek to the back of his neck, where her fingers threaded through the light strands. "'At Christmas I no more desire a rose, than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows.' I wish only to be here with you, to be wherever you are. Can you give that to me?"  
  
"Without a doubt, madam."  
  
"Then I will most gladly accept it."  
  
"An excellent proposal, as I'm quite certain I will never tire of giving you that."  
  
"'Whither thou goest, I will go,'" she murmured, leaning up for a kiss as the snow fell more heavily outside.   
  
"'And whither thou lodgest, I will lodge,'" he murmured back, giving it to her.   
  
"Indeed." Another kiss. "Whether there are presents or not."


End file.
